Chapter 4
Morning light filtered through the windows as Paul stretched lazily in the yard.
Rudeus stood across from him, wooden sword in hand.
Small.
Quiet.
Watching.
---
"Alright, Rudy," Paul said casually, "just swing at me."
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To Paul, this was still play.
To Rudeus—
It was refinement.
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He stepped forward.
Swing.
---
Paul blocked easily.
Too easily.
---
"Too slow," Paul said.
---
Rudeus didn't respond.
He stepped back.
Adjusted his stance.
Shifted his grip—just slightly.
---
Swing.
---
Again, blocked.
But this time—
Paul's arm moved just a little more.
---
"…Hm?"
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Rudeus noticed.
That tiny difference.
That slight delay.
That fraction of resistance.
---
*So that's what changes…*
---
He attacked again.
And again.
And again.
---
Each strike identical—
Yet not.
Each one refined.
Adjusted.
Optimized.
---
Paul's expression shifted.
From relaxed—
To curious.
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"…You're learning a bit too fast."
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Rudeus said nothing.
But inside—
He was already dissecting everything.
---
*My body isn't keeping up.*
*The movement is correct.*
*But the speed… the power…*
---
That night—
He pushed harder than ever before.
---
His arms swung until they trembled.
His legs buckled under repetition.
His breathing became ragged.
---
Muscles tore.
Not lightly—
But violently.
---
Pain flared.
Sharp.
Intense.
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"…Good."
---
Mana surged.
Healing activated instantly.
---
The damage vanished—
But not without leaving something behind.
---
Strength.
---
And so—
He continued.
---
Again.
Again.
Again.
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Until—
Nothing remained.
---
Mana: empty.
Body: broken.
Mind: satisfied.
---
Morning came.
And with it—
Power returned.
Greater than before.